The Voice
by Ryalo
Summary: A strange little drabble.  I got bored and this is the product.


Up, down, up, down, down, down, down, down, up, down, up, down, down, down, down.

Repeat.

Music like this going on faintly and constantly in your head must not be good for your sanity, he decided. The Voice chided him softly, telling him that sanity didn't matter and that the song was important. He knew this, of course, but it still probably wasn't good for him. Once again the Voice scolded him, the song was life, of course it was good for him. A slight pout, and he apologized. After all, he didn't want to anger the Voice. It was everything to him. Mother, sister, companion, master. He was its tool, a willing tool. He would do anything and everything the Voice asked him. He simply enjoyed being childish. He never had the chance to be childish when he was a child. Lips curled in a silent snarl, his thoughts turned to the cause of this horrendous infraction. They had left him in that house, with those stupid creatures. Away from the Voice's loving embrace, banished him to that cold unfeeling world. And then they had came back when they needed him before betraying him again. Again and again he was torn from the Voice, and when he finally could take it no more, they had labeled him with that pitiful label of Dark and thrown him away. Because he hadn't wanted to fight with those who had tortured him so. His snarl turned to a sneer, thinking of how stupid they were. They didn't know was dark was, no more than they knew what light was. After all, no such things existed. All there was was intent, power, knowledge, and balance. With a knife you can carve a cane to help one walk, or you can use that same knife to take someone's life. This was the same for all things. There was no light, no dark. The Voice had told him so, and the Voice would know the best for the Voice was magic. Those wand waving idiots believed that magic was only in themselves, that magic was simply a tool to be used. They could not be more wrong. Magic was sentient, and it did not like how its children were acting. Magic was everywhere, thrumming in the earth, sky, plants, and creatures. Magic was what kept them alive, magic was the beginning, and would be the end. Magic would regretfully destroy this flawed world, and try again with its tools. So many would die, but it would restore the balance and make way for the new. Death was like fire, he decided, destroying but allowing room for new growth. And life was a cycle, with history constantly repeating itself. Slowly he blinked, maybe all this solitude was getting to him. He never used to think this much. The Voice acted offended, but gave off an air of amusement. Silly little child. He growled at that, before dropping the act and grinning viciously. For weeks now he had been stuck in this stupid little cell, his only company being the Voice and the dementors that came around. They didn't effect him anymore, not after the Voice had told them not to. He could speak to them, the Voice had opened his ears and his mind, but they weren't a very talkative species, very gloomy. He shrugged. That was simply their nature. The Voice had also blocked the other prisoner's voices. The Voice hadn't been able to talk to him at first, his headache had been so bad. Idiots. Screaming did nothing, solved nothing. If they truly wanted something to change, they should have tried to do something about it. Nobody was coming to rescue them, because in the eyes of the other idiots they were inferior, dirty, tainted. Not that any of them were any better. He shook his head, shaggy black hair flying back and forth. No, they simply ignored it, pretended that it didn't exist. But he knew he was tainted, and he embraced it. The taint was only possible if there was something to taint, so when the taint was accepted, it was no longer a taint. It was all very confusing, and hard to explain. Not that there was anyone to explain it to. And his thoughts swirled around in his head. There wasn't anything to do here, it was so boring sitting in this cold, damp cell. Then again, Azkaban wasn't built with comfort in mind, nor entertainment. Yes, he was in Azkaban. Harry James Potter, the bloody Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Die, was in the most feared wizarding prison of all time. And he was bored out of his mind.

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Well, there's my more than slightly disturbing Harry Potter drabble. I can never figure out where to end and start paragraphs, so I apologize for that. Not sure if or how I'm going to continue this. I know that I need to make it longer, but still new to trying to write and all. Bleh, I'm babbling. Anyways, please comment, review, criticize, whatever. I know I'm not very good, but I'd like to know how to make it better. Creative criticism is loved.


End file.
